"This Can't Be Happening!"
by soyamiso
Summary: Vegeta, Chaoutzu, and Piccolo sub for Gohan's veterinary classes. Goku takes his turn as professor.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: I know nothing of veterinary school. All that I know comes from Animal Planet.  
  
Legal disclaimer: Dragonball and the characters belong to Toriyama and whoever else owns the copyrights. Inspired by Gary Larson's Farside.  
  
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"All right, class," Gohan addressed his students. "Remember that some of the faculty and I will be at the Southwest Veterinary Conference next week. Your written boards are still on schedule, so keep up with your studies. And yes, you will be getting substitute teachers, so be nice to them." Gohan had no doubt that his students would behave. They were, after all, destined to be professionals.  
  
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The ninety students settled into their seats, awaiting their substitute teacher. Each stared at the wall clock, hoping for a no-show. As the clock hit the hour mark, the professor confidently strutted into the classroom.  
  
Although diminutive, the shock of flame-shaped black hair and scowl gave him the appearance of a larger menace.  
  
He held up the syllabus. "This lecture will involve dealing with injuries, diseases, and sickness. I am Professor Vegeta. You may call me Professor, Sir, or Lord Vegeta. What I say is law. I am the expert, otherwise, they would not be paying me to instruct you."  
  
Vegeta opened the text to the page marked by his predecessor.  
  
"All right. Question one: What should you do if a horse breaks its leg? You, fat boy in the third row, answer me."  
  
The indignant student huffed. He wasn't fat, just big-boned with a slight glandular problem and a weakness for fried foods.  
  
"First, you stabilize the leg with a splint, sedate the animal, and wrap it in a cast. During healing time, the horse should be placed in a harness in a pool of water to exercise his legs for strength and prevent atrophy of the muscles." The big-boned fellow smiled smugly.  
  
"Wrong! Anyone else have a better answer?"  
  
The class looked around and murmured to each other. According to the latest edition of Equine Husbandry, that was a pretty darn good condensed version of fixing a horse's broken leg.  
  
Vegeta finally lost his patience when no one volunteered another answer. "You blast it!"  
  
The students looked at each other and stared back at the professor. Was this guy joking? They could not tell from his dour expression. A student raised her hand.  
  
"What is it," Professor Vegeta demanded.  
  
"You can't blast it, Sir. We don't do that here. We have other means to take care of a horse's broken leg."  
  
Vegeta sighed. He had forgotten about this weak, undeveloped society. "Fine, I amend the treatment."  
  
The class relaxed. So, their teacher did have a sense of humor, although a very sick one.  
  
Vegeta continued, "I forgot about your primitive ways. You shoot it."  
  
Silence.  
  
"Good. Absorb the information. Now, question two: What do you give a horse for a cough? You, unkempt girl with stringy hair, answer it."  
  
The slighted student spoke boldly, as this was an easy question. "You prescribe a cough suppressant with codeine for seven days."  
  
"No. Who else has an answer?" Vegeta's gaze pierced the room. No one raised a hand.  
  
"You shoot it. Why is this so hard for you people? Are you all idiots? Of course you are."  
  
So the lecture continued in the same bizarre vein.  
  
Blindness: shoot it.  
  
Arthritis: shoot it.  
  
Split hoof: shoot it.  
  
Loses a shoe: shoot it.  
  
The more sensitive students left the room to cry. The rest sat in disbelief, hoping that the nightmare would soon end.  
  
Eventually, the topic changed to treating the smaller domestics.  
  
"What do you do for a cat with a broken leg? You, sniveling in the back row with bottle-rim glasses."  
  
"Uh, *sniff* you...you...shoot it?" replied the distraught one.  
  
"With what," the professor asked.  
  
"A *sniff* b-b-bullet?" came the reply.  
  
Vegeta sneered. "No!"  
  
No? Hope rose like a mist in the classroom. This was a dream.  
  
His highness proceeded. "You use a needle and shoot it with a cocktail of barbiturates to euthanize it. Shoot it with a bullet, how absurd."  
  
Fresh tears poured forth from the gallery. The professor seemed oblivious.  
  
So it progressed.  
  
Dog with swollen anal sac: euthanasia  
  
Hamster with overgrown incisors: euthanasia  
  
Iguana with salmonella: euthanasia  
  
Parrot with nasal discharge: wring neck  
  
Finch with broken wing: squeeze neck.   
  
The lecture mercifully came to a close. Boxes of facial tissues littered the aisles.  
  
Professor Vegeta quizzed his students one last time. "So what have you learned? If an animal is sick or injured, what would you do?"  
  
"Shoot it, euthanize it, wring its neck, Lord Vegeta," came the morose replies in unison.  
  
"Goood," crooned the Saiyan. "I have taught you well."  
  
#####  
  
Next: Chaotzu cheerily floated into the room. 


	2. Professor Chaotzu

Legal disclaimer: Dragonball and the characters belong to Toriyama and whoever else owns the copyrights.  
  
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Chaotzu cheerily floated into the classroom. The message that Tien had written was tucked safely in his rear pants pocket. He could not believe that the school called to ask him to substitute. Finally, people recognized his expertise. He set up his equipment and surveyed the students. The tiny warrior had never seen a more depressed bunch of sixty people. Oh, well. Maybe his course will cheer them up.  
  
"Class, I will be your instructor today. My name is Chaotzu. The syllabus says that we are to learn about bird nutrition. I think that you will be pleasantly surprised by what I have for you."  
  
"Will it involve any neck wringing?" inquired one nervous and bleary-eyed student.  
  
"No, no. Why would we want to wring their precious necks? Sounds like something Vegeta would do, but I wouldn't. That's silly, not to mention gruesome," chirped the tiniest warrior.  
  
The students exhaled with relief. So, the floating instructor disagreed with the morbid Lord Vegeta. Thank goodness. And he had such a harmless child-like voice. Many students picked up their books and moved toward the front of the classroom. Some even settled in the first row.  
  
"Let's get started, shall we? First, we need to prepare the ingredients for them. I found that grinding up the food into a mash helps with digestion and releases the most flavor."  
  
Their colorful instructor pulled out an apple and a cupful of pine nuts from his bag and expertly chopped them into small chunks before putting them into a food processor to pulverize. The students gasped. The tiny hands moved with the skill of a surgeon's.  
  
"I like to add garlic to the mixture. I'm a firm believer that garlic can cure most sicknesses. So always add a little bit. You don't want to add too much because they might cause tummy aches," Chaotzu warned.  
  
The students nodded and scribbled furiously in their notebooks. Yes, they had heard of that.  
  
A student raised his hand. "Could you go over a list of ingredients?"  
  
"Why it's very simple. Fowl are versatile. They do well with any fruits, vegetables, seeds, and herbs. As long as you don't overwhelm them by adding too much together, then you can't go wrong. I like to limit my mix to three things. And don't forget berries. Berries are yummy." The cute instructor rubbed his tiny tummy for effect.  
  
Pens glided across papers as these aspiring veterinarians jotted down the Professor's tips. Every little bit of information would help with their upcoming exams.  
  
Chaotzu loaded the creamed mixture into a small syringe. He replaced the large-bore metal tip back onto the syringe.  
  
"Sir, shouldn't the tip be rubber so it can flex and not damage the animal?"  
  
"Oh, I tried that, but it didn't work so well for me. I get more control with this metal tip. But if you can use rubber, then go right ahead. We want our chicks nice and full."  
  
More nods to the professor.  
  
"Now, let's address the little ones."  
  
The class leaned forward with anticipation. The tiny professor had brought chicks to do a live feeding demonstration!  
  
Chaotzu removed his babies from their covered container and held up a plucked pigeon.  
  
"AAAAAHHHH!" "OOOOHH!" "What the hell?!"  
  
Chaotzu giggled. "I always get that reaction whenever I do this. Surprise! It's not the same boring stuffed chicken or turkey." He giggled some more, pleased with his creativity. "The reason you don't want to wring the neck is that you want to preserve the integrity of the bird for full flavor. You slit the neck and drain the blood." The ghostly pale instructor inserted a thumb into the neck to demonstrate the clean slit. The head of the dead animal wobbled back and forth atop his thumb.  
  
The classmates looked at each other in horror. Of course Professor Chaotzu would know Lord Vegeta. They came from the same nightmare.  
  
The scary clown continued with the lesson. "Most people don't want to see a plated squab with its head and feet still attached. So, you remove them." He grabbed his favorite cleaver and WHACK WHACK WHACK... In his zeal, a piece flew off the chopping board. Chaotzu floated over to the hapless student and retrieved the wayward head from the student's lap.  
  
"Thank you for catching it." The tiny butcher bowed politely in gratitude.  
  
The young man trembled uncontrollably. He blinked back tears and concentrated on keeping the rest of himself dry.  
  
The sadistic little man with too much rouge proceeded to finish chopping off the feet and heads of the rest of the squabs. Several students retched and ran for the door. The professor shrugged.  
  
"Now, I think that it's wasteful to throw away the heads. The feet, just toss them. But collect the heads in a pot, add a little butter, and brown them over medium heat. Then add some water and boil to create a most wonderful stock for soups and sauces."  
  
The remaining students sat with their mouths agape.  
  
Chaoutzu smiled at the apparently salivating audience. He held his pot of squab heads and looked around in confusion. "Excuse me, but where are the burners?"  
  
"W-w-we don't have burners in this classroom. It's just a lecture hall. The burners are in the lab."  
  
"In the lab? Why would a culinary school have a lab?" He pulled out the note from his pocket. "Is this 1010 Nikki Street?"  
  
"Yes, it is. But the Culinary Institute is across the street at 1001 Nikki Street."  
  
"Oh." With a quick apology, the disappointed warrior quickly gathered his belongings and floated out the door. He had already wasted enough time and ingredients no thanks to a certain roommate and his dyslexic third eye.  
  
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Next: Piccolo could not believe this.  
  
%%%%% FoodTV is my favorite network.  
  
Thanks for the reviews and tips. I'm not 100% sure about that codeine therapy, either, but it sounded right. 


	3. What Do You Know, Piccolo?

Legal disclaimer: Dragonball and the characters belong to Toriyama and whoever else owns the copyrights.  
  
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This chap's a bit long, but you'll understand.  
  
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Piccolo could not believe this. He was a warrior, not a healer. He strode into the room, his cape swishing behind him. The forty future veterinarians (and some recently converted vegetarians) gaped in awe. Never had they seen a humanoid so tall and green.  
  
He wasted no time. "Call me Piccolo. Part of your curriculum is learning how to treat your own injuries incurred during the handling of animals. Let's get this over with quickly."  
  
A hand timidly rose. "Sir, do you know a Lord Vegeta and Professor Chaotzu?"  
  
Piccolo grunted. "I do. And after what I've been through with those two, I hope to never see them again."  
  
The class relaxed a fraction. Previous experience taught them not to get their hopes up.  
  
Piccolo began. "It's simple. Rule number one: avoid all dangerous creatures. However, if you are stupid enough to forget rule number one and get bitten, scratched, clawed, or sprayed by rabid, venomous, or sick animals, then wash out the wound with copious amounts of water. Go immediately to the hospital, and pray to your kai, Dende. Class dismissed."  
  
The not-yet-vets frowned at each other. That was it? Class over? By golly, the non-refundable tuition cost a buttload, and they sure as HFIL better get their money's worth from this guy.  
  
"Sir, that's all true, but what if we're far from a hospital? What should we do then?"  
  
The Namek sighed. So, they actually wanted him to teach. The giant warrior left the room. A few minutes later, a couple of laboratory assistants brought in glass tanks, each containing a deadly viper.  
  
Professor Piccolo re-entered the room. The giant proceeded to lift a cobra expertly from its cage. The class gasped in unison. "Snakes seem to give people the most worries, so I'll use them as an example." He looked at the creature in his hand. "This one has just eaten, so it probably won't strike."  
  
The students watched in fascination.  
  
Piccolo returned the reptile to its container. He pulled out a yellow box. "This is an Xacto kit. You should each carry one of these if you ever decide to handle venomous animals." He opened the box and showed them the equipment and the instruction booklet.  
  
Then the professor did the unthinkable. He reached a hand into the second container, the one with the coral snake, and wiggled his fingers. The snake struck.  
  
"Whoa!"  
  
"Is he crazy?"  
  
"What's he up to?"  
  
"Bite him again! Bite him again!"  
  
The class turned toward the outspoken student. "What?" she asked innocently. "They have to get revenge, I mean, defend themselves."  
  
Piccolo ignored the commotion. "Whether they be cobras, black widows, rabid dogs, the same principles apply. Clean the wound immediately. The location of the bite affects your mortality rate. The closer the bite is to the brain and heart, the more likely you will die and the more quickly you need to act. Time is of the essence." The Namek scanned the room. "Where's the sink?"  
  
"We don't have a sink, Sir."  
  
He grunted. "Fine. We will skip cleaning the wound. On to step two." He removed the contents from the Xacto kit and read the instructions. One brow ridge arched as he fumbled with the plastic suction pump. "This is crazy. You people would be dead by the time you get to step three."  
  
The students' eyes widened as the professor pushed on his hand, and POOSH, purple blood and venom squirted out from the two bite holes. The class clapped.  
  
"Wow, that was great. Will you show us how to expel our blood," asked a student. "I'll give you a gold star if you do."  
  
Piccolo gave her a quizzical look. Bribery? He would have preferred designer water. "I doubt that you humans could do such a thing. I'll show you something easier." The green being again reached for the snake.  
  
"Yeah! Bite that roguish devil!" came a shout as the snake chomped down on the prof's hand.  
  
"Shh!" A polite young man hushed her. His mother had taught him never to say "shut up".  
  
"Sucking out the venom with your mouth may work but has not been proven conclusively. Keep the wound below the level of your heart. Your best bet is to stop the venom from coursing through the bloodstream. You should stop it at its source." Quicker than thought, the giant professor whacked off the afflicted hand with the cleaver conveniently forgotten by Chef Chaotzu. The appendage bounced off the podium and flopped twice before going still.  
  
A collective groan arose from the class. The previous two days had made them too hoarse to scream.  
  
"That's just demented!"  
  
"I think I'm going to be sick!"  
  
"You cut it off!"  
  
"No matter." The Namek grunted and SPLOOSH, out popped another hand in its place. He wiggled the new sticky digits.  
  
The students clutched their stomachs. Some turned as green as their instructor. No wonder tuition was so high. Part of the money must pay for some sort of psychological therapy.  
  
"We can't do that!"  
  
"What are you, a lizard?"  
  
"How can anyone chop off their own hand with a cleaver?!"  
  
"Fine. Let's try this again." Piccolo let himself get bitten a third time. "This time we'll pretend that you have no cutting instruments." The large green warrior then grabbed his shoulder in a tight grip. With gut- wrenching effort, and an agonizing scream to match, he tore off the limb and flung it away, as was his habit.  
  
"Holy Dende!" The arm hit a young woman in the chest, ricocheted off of her desk, and bounced to slap her in the face - twice! The poor girl nearly crapped in her pants. She leaped from her desk and ran for the door, scattering her classmate's gold stars in the process. The other student remained unaware, as she had already used the stickers to seal her eyes and ears shut from the gruesome lecture.  
  
After regenerating his arm, the mighty warrior gazed about the room. Most of the seats were now vacant. He noticed one girl bowed over her notes, furiously scribbling away.  
  
"Hey, Kid, what are you writing?"  
  
"Huh? Oh, I was just gathering notes to prove to Lord Vegeta that you don't always have to shoot horses. They can eat garlic and stuff."  
  
Piccolo observed the strange girl. "Did you hear my lecture?"  
  
"You said something about going immediately to the hospital."  
  
Piccolo nodded. "Apparently, you missed rule number one. Be sure that you're already checked into the hospital when you try to prove Vegeta wrong, Kid." The warrior turned and left, his cape swishing behind him.  
  
The polite young man stared at the mess. The professor's limbs remained oozing on the floor. As much as it disgusted him to remain in the room, he forced himself to walk over to the intercom. "Housekeeping, please come to room 101. Housekeeping, please come to room 101. Severed hand and arm to clean up." His mother had also taught him to be neat.  
  
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Thanks for the reviews!  
  
If I got the pronouns wrong, then it's funnier, eh? 


	4. Daaad!

Legal disclaimer: Dragonball and the characters belong to Toriyama and whoever else owns the copyrights.  
  
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Word leaked out that Professor Gohan's father would be the instructor. Forty-five curious and paranoid students filed into the classroom and claimed their seats at the rear of the room. Professor Gohan may be a dear, sweet man, but the last few days already proved that they were in Bizarro world. They watched with detached interest as two lab assistants wheeled in a heavily sedated dog and set the gurney in front of the room. The animal's chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, creating an almost serene atmosphere.  
  
"Hello, everyone," greeted the jubilant spiky-haired man. Was it their imagination, or did a ray of sunshine follow the guy into the room? The light glinted off of his metal lunch-pail.  
  
"Some of you may know that I'm Gohan's dad. I'm so proud of him, reaching such a goal at his young age. He's up for tenure, you know." Goku smiled in sheer delight. "I hope to do him proud."  
  
He scanned the room and spied the sleeping dog. The country Saiyan walked over to the animal and set his lunch bucket at its feet. "I guess they want a live demonstration," he mused to himself. "Alright class, we'll be learning animal CPR today. We'll learn how to save these precious things." Goku gave the dog an affectionate pat on the belly.  
  
Ears perked up. Save animals? Praise Dende, father and son were alike.  
  
Professor Goku flipped open the text and read aloud. "If an animal is severely injured, assess the damage. Step one: make sure that the animal is dead." He blinked and re-read the statement. He blinked again. With a shrug, the Saiyan formed a tiny ki beam on his finger and pressed it to the dog's head. The animal spasmed and kicked the bucket -- literally. Goku's lunch-pail flew off of the gurney and hit the tiled floor with a loud clang.  
  
"AAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!" Blood-curdling screams and mournful wails filled the classroom. Whether they were hoarse before, they soon found their voices. A few sustained their screams for too long and passed out from the resultant lack of air.  
  
Goku looked up at the noise. "Oh, it'll be okay. Chi-Chi said that I have the strongest lunchbox." He grinned at the students to assuage their fears. How nice that they were concerned for his well-being. To appease them, he retrieved his lunch-pail and placed it safely back onto the gurney.  
  
The wild-haired dog-killer focused his attention back on the lecture. "Step two: if the animal is still alive, as evidenced by a pulse, but not breathing, then begin CPR." He blinked. And blinked again. "...oops, heh heh. I'll be right back." Placing two fingers to his forehead, he disappeared.  
  
The class took no notice. Their current concern was slapping their syncopic friends awake. Hopefully, none of them would need mouth-to-mouth resuscitation themselves.  
  
Goku reappeared with Dende and pointed to the dog. The Namekian nodded and worked his healing magic. In moments, the pooch stood up and shook the weariness from its body.  
  
The class was awestruck. Who was this small young version of the self- mutilating Piccolo? How can he reanimate a dead dog?  
  
"Who are you," asked a student.  
  
"Dende," answered the young healer.  
  
"Dende? THE Dende?"  
  
"The Dende who is guardian of the Earth?"  
  
"The Dende who should listen to our prayers?"  
  
"The Dende who protects us from evil?"  
  
"Welll." Dende was more lookout man than anything else. Earth's Special Forces were supposed to protect them from evil. And hearing prayers, who would have the time? But the quiet Namekian didn't want to answer so many questions, so with a noncommittal shrug, he replied, "Yes."  
  
"Get him!" They descended on the Saiyan and Namek like droves of bees. Pandemonium broke out at the podium. The dog yipped wildly and pranced back and forth along the gurney.  
  
"Help me, Goku! I can't stand all of this slapping!"  
  
"I agree. These slaps are annoying. Vegeta was right. They are a pathetic bunch. None of them can make a decent fist." Goku powered up and his ki pushed the students outward. "That wasn't very nice," he scolded. "You should all thank Dende. He did save the doggy."  
  
Shamefaced, the classmates cast their eyes downward and shuffled their feet. "Sorry," a few muttered.  
  
Dende huffed and straightened his antennae. Sorry or not, the damage was done. He had been bitch-slapped by no less than forty-five thankless weaklings. See if he would ever warn this area of evil invaders again. Signaling to Goku that he was ready, they left in a blink. The professor returned in a fraction of a moment, before anyone could sneak out.  
  
"Everybody back to your seats and we'll continue with the lesson."  
  
Remembering how easily the executioner dispatched the canine, the students fearfully obeyed.  
  
"Well, since our doggy is awake, we'll just read from the book. Chaoutzu always told me to read all of the instructions first. Guess I forgot to do that. Heh heh."  
  
"Do you also know Piccolo?" The question had to be asked.  
  
Goku smiled. "He's a good friend."  
  
That clinched it. This wasn't Bizarro world; it was Hell. Not HFIL, but pure adulterated to the max Hell. So, the sadistic instructors knew each other and were in cahoots with the devilish guardian. Curse that Dende!  
  
The rest of the lecture culminated without incident. Goku sat on the gurney with the dog on his lap and rubbed its tummy, peppering the reading with "num-nums for the doggy's tum-tums." The pooch panted happily and kicked rapidly in pure bliss. The not-quite-sure-they-want-to-be-vets cringed each time the dog's foot contacted the instructor's lunch-pail.  
  
After class was dismissed, two lab assistants entered the room. They stared in confusion at the healthy canine. The dog had been prepped for knee replacement surgery and was left there until the operating room was free. But now, it looked completely healed. Oh, well, less work for them. They picked up the dog, thanked Goku (who gave credit to Dende), and left. Goku picked up his lunch bucket and followed them out, happy that he could now eat Chi-Chi's yummy cooking.  
  
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Thanks for the reviews! 


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